


The Best Laid Plans of Anthony J. Crowley(Will Often Go Awry)

by song_of_fate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a bastard, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Eating out, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fellatio, Fluff and Crack, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marathon Sex, Other, Praise Kink, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), What else is new, You heard me, ceiling sex, crowley did not think this through, crowley tried to do something but it ended up going wrong, crowley's into it, it's actually pretty sweet when you think about it, revenge is best served on every flat surface of your angels bookshop, the crop top made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_fate/pseuds/song_of_fate
Summary: Crowley dresses like a walking scandal and enters A.Z. Fell & Co with the intention of ruffling some feathers (both literal and proverbial, mind) before inviting his angel out for dinner and a fabulous bottle of wine.His plan, as usual, backfires dramatically.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 562
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	The Best Laid Plans of Anthony J. Crowley(Will Often Go Awry)

**Author's Note:**

> The thought of Crowley in a crop top made my entire friend group completely feral. Therefore, we decided it would make Aziraphale do the same. Enjoy.
> 
> Now with STUNNING [artwork](https://stardust-andwine.tumblr.com/post/613756153031163904/art-from-the-absolutely-talented-and) by the lovely artist-in-space !

If there was one thing Crowley loved, it was summer. 

Little could replicate the feel of sunlight on his skin; the warmth and the burn of it, how it freckled the paleness on his face and arms just enough to bring some texture to the expanse of white that came with his corporation. How fluid and comfortable everything felt in exchange. He was ready for anything. Renewed. And Crowley always did create his favorite kind of chaos in the sunlight. 

Though if he were being honest, _something he endeavored to do as little as possible_ , summer also just so happened to be the perfect time to don revealing clothing and waltz into his angel’s bookshop for a little well-earned demonic revenge.

Crowley took in his ensemble one final time in the dusty window of Aziraphale’s shop, running his hand through the hair he’d grown out again after Armageddont. The style was a half bun that he knew elevated his cheekbones. His pants grey at the hips, fading down into black that matched the boots he wore(which may or may not be his actual blackened feet but who needed to know that? No one, that’s who). Crowley was a fan of tight pants. They made things _shapely_. He could work with that, and he very much intended to. His top was the deepest of blacks and long-sleeved despite the heat as it lay far above the hem of his jeans that clung to him like a second skin, reaching only just under his pec muscles to show off the planes of his stomach. It was really the cornerstone of this piece; one bound to garner attention. Though it was rather the point to make sure people did, indeed, see him, 

_Understatement._ He snorted, twisting one last time in the window. Aziraphale certainly deserved it after the stunt he pulled last week; showing off his “pet snake” to the zoologist that had happened in for a reference guide on dung beetles, of all bloody things, and become instantly fascinated with Crowley as he lounged in the sunny window. 

Crowley could have forgiven him, had the angel not been so impossibly smug about it. But no, instead Crowley had been forced to play nice with a babbling human who poked and prodded at him with absolutely zero concept of personal space. So he’d seethed, coiled tight, and schemed.

The bell above the door rung merrily when he walked in, the familiar scent of fresh vanilla and old dust and Aziraphale marred by the intrusion of about eight humans. Odd. Crowley couldn’t place the last time the bookshop had hosted this many patrons at one time since it’s opening years. Tourist season maybe, he mused, gingerly stepping around a couple of girls that were huddled around Aziraphale’s collection of poetry. Tiny things with matching sets of dark-rimmed glasses and over-priced coffee cups that Crowley couldn’t quite believe the angel had allowed inside of the shop in the first place. Paranoid, that one. Probably wouldn’t survive it if someone’s sugary bean water destroyed one of his classics.

As it turned out, purposefully stepping around people was just too far left of the natural laws of how his legs worked and as punishment, he collided with one of the human girls who had her nose so far into the book she held it was a wonder she didn’t disappear into it altogether.

He’d never admit to stumbling. He simply—swerved. The hand she reached out to steady him out of polite duty was unnecessary. You’d find no other story from him. Crowley held up his hands as the girl spun around with a surprised gasp and then stuttered, face exploding in a mousy little blush as she realized she’d reached out had stalled on Crowley’s bare hip reflexively.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—” She released him as if he’d burned her, which he supposed was possible depending on the day, and he waved her away with only a slight twist to his smile simply because he was in the mood to be looked at and she’d done no harm in the end. The more attention he aroused the better, really. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He grinned when her blush deepened, watched on as she gave it her all to keep her eyes on his face. “Have you happened to see the owner about anywhere?” 

She stared up at him, blinking rapidly as if trying to wake herself from a fever dream. “Are you a model?” 

Crowley laughed, but not unkindly. “Flattering, but no. Not as such.” He tilted his head towards the interior of the shop and asked again. “The owner?”

“Oh, yes! Mr. Fell went to the back to find out if he had another edition of this Dickinson.” She held up a brownish tome with mismatched pages and tight, curving handwriting that Crowley vaguely recognized to indeed be one of Aziraphale’s oldest and most beloved. Emily had been a personal friend, and it was likely an accident it had been out on the floor in the first place. He nodded, clicking his tongue. 

“Ah, yes, he won’t be parting with that one, I’m afraid. I’d be careful with that if I were you, in fact. The older they are the more fidgety he gets.” 

She started to relax, her shoulders drooping and the redness slowly dwindling from her cheeks. Crowley frowned. People weren’t supposed to do that around him. He didn’t exude _comfort_. But it was technically Aziraphale’s territory, and that probably made it harder for his traits to break through.

“Do you know Mr. Fell, then?”

_Do I._ Crowley opened his mouth to say something clever, or lascivious, or both when a clash was heard from across the bookshop, causing the two of them to look up in tandem. Aziraphale was standing in the doorway, staring like he’d swallowed one of those duck eggs with the chick still inside. The noise had come from the box of books he’d apparently dropped at his feet while his eyes were wide and trained solely on Crowley. Crowley’s grin grew, admiring the way the shock on the angel’s face morphed into something vaguely threatening. Quick on the uptake, this time. He’d give him that.

“You could say that.” He said to the girl with a wink before turning to Aziraphale with a hearty wave. “Hey, angel!” 

Aziraphale’s fists clenched, then forced themselves back open to flutter against the hem of his vest as he plastered on an absolutely terrifying smile. Crowley was delighted. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale grit out, jerking his head over his shoulder. “A word, if you wouldn’t mind.”  
  
It didn’t take a second sight to see that Aziraphale was seething, and the smirk that tilted Crowley’s lips was just this side of smug as he lifted one hand to rest on an exposed hip bone. More than one person had looked on at the sound of the box falling, and one by one those gazes had all moved on to the source of the shop owner’s surprise. Crowley ate up the attention, knowing precisely how many of the bookshop's patrons currently had their eyes on him. It was a good thing the angel didn’t actually _want_ people in his shop because he was pretty sure there would be fervent and salacious whispers about the scandalously dressed man who came to call on A.Z. Fell in the middle of God’s broad daylight.

“Oh no,” Crowley said, “I wouldn’t _dare_ to presume I could pull you away from all these customers. Please, carry on. I’ll just idle around here until you’ve a moment.”

They stared at each other; Aziraphale’s expression promising pain, Crowley’s reveling at the embarrassed flush crawling slowly up the angel’s neck as the murmuring started. It was maybe a few times a year the bookshop would randomly draw in a healthy slew of customers, especially as the younger generations became ever-drawn by the old and the quirky. He couldn’t have planned this better himself.

Aziraphale broke the spell, reaching into the box he’d dropped and pulling forth a book without looking away from Crowley once. Everyone present appeared to be holding their breath as they watched the spectacle unfold. When Aziraphale finally turned to the girl in question, he pressed the book into her waiting hands and gently but firmly guided her towards the door of the shop. “Here you go miss, as requested, but I’m afraid the shop is now quite closed. So, if you please—” 

The girl, who had been watching the exchange with a blatant interest, tried to shift to a stop in Aziraphale’s hold. “But, sir, don’t you need me to pay for—?” 

“Have a _lovely_ day.” Aziraphale pressed as he led her to the door before turning and casting a pointed glance about to the rest of the humans. Crowley chuckled as the people scattered, only just avoiding hitting the displays as heads turned back to look between the strange man and Mr. Fell. He waited for them to file out, amusing himself by fiddling with the shelves while he listened to Aziraphale titter and throw out a few insincere apologies. The door slammed shut behind the last, and Crowley pulled the closest book down with a smirk as be flipped idly through the dusty pages. For effect, you understand. 

“Well, that worked like a charm. Did you really just _give_ a Dickinson away? Bad business practice, that.” He hummed, voice pitched with false innocence. The decisive click of the door being locked in reply made him look up.

Aziraphale stood tall, his chin tilted as he leveled Crowley with a look that struck him right in the spine. Crowley waited for him to speak. Waited for the indignant scolding as he insisted last week’s situation _was only a misunderstanding, Crowley, really, there was no need to resort to such childish measures_. They’d laugh it off, as always, and Crowley would invite him out to dinner to soothe his companion’s ruffled feathers. But the words didn’t come, and Aziraphale’s expression remained closed, leaving him floundering for his next line. 

“What,” Aziraphale began, clipped and quiet. “On earth are you wearing?”

The air grew thick as he watched Aziraphale’s eyes, blown dark and calculating, rake over the length of Crowley’s body in a slow, deliberate assessment. Each look left scorch marks on his skin in sharp, rapid presses. Aziraphale took a step forward, and Crowley had a sudden and distinct feeling that he'd missed something important. 

"W-well." Crowley attempted, coughed, then tried again. "Thought I’d try something new." He turned this way and that, watched Aziraphale watch him do it with curiosity. There was still the odd glint in the angel’s eyes that he was having a hard time sorting out, but there was no time to turn back now. He was committed. "Consider it a gift, angel. Scared away the customers, and now you’ve got the rest of the day off.” He waved his hand in a lazy toss. “Don’t bother thanking me, you know I hate it.”

The silence was both unexpected and entirely annoying. Where was the outrage? The red-faced, pompous fury? It’s not any fun if Aziraphale doesn’t play back. 

“Oh, come on ang—”

Something shifted on the angel's face and in one breath, Aziraphale was close enough for them to brush noses. By the next, he was roughly spinning Crowley around to face the shelves, pinning his hands to the wood in such a fluid motion he didn’t have the time to do much else than let out an indignant yelp. The book he had been holding slipped from his startled fingers and fell with a thump that echoed through the now empty room. The silence was broken only by the rush of his blood in his ears as he struggled to figure out what had just happened. 

Aziraphale's warm body pressed into the length of him, firm and unhurried and Crowley swallowed around the gasp he couldn’t quite suppress. His fingers tightened around Crowley’s wrists and held.

"I see,” Aziraphale's voice pitched low, more like the rumble of thunder than true words. “A _gift_ , was it?" He hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder for a moment, skin brushing skin while Crowley forgot how words worked. "And what a gift you are." He whispered into the shell of Crowley's ear. He shivered helplessly as Aziraphale crossed Crowley’s wrists above his head, holding them tightly in one fist while the other smoothed a slow, agonizing trail down his back, curving around the bones of his hips and back as if he’d never seen them before.

Crowley’s heart stuttered, cycled itself back, then re-started at such a pace he felt seconds from bursting into flames. He’d missed something. Had _definitely_ missed something, but at this point, it didn’t bloody _matter_ when Aziraphale was whispering wicked promises and holding him just. Like. That. He tried to settle his breathing, even the score, get them back on dry land again where he could get some sort of word in. But the angel’s hand had curved around his stomach, thumb brushing teasingly over the sensitive skin just below his navel and his other fingers clearing just shy of his cock… wait when exactly did the bastard get his jeans open? His head was a subway tunnel of endless noise.

“Angel, I—” He gulped and swallowed thickly. Watched the spines of the books meld together when Aziraphale’s mouth pressed hotly against the back of his neck. “Not that I’m complaining, cuz I’m— I’m _not_. No argument from this corner— _ngk,_ ” He moaned, body thrumming and pulsing when Aziraphale pressed harder, clenching his teeth and breathing harshly through his nose. “B-ut I didn’t. I wasn’t—” 

“Perhaps not,” Aziraphale hummed, far more put-together sounding than he had any rights to be, sighing when Crowley ground back against the strain in his trousers, thoughtless and needy. Well, he was already here wasn’t he? Half-blissed out already from Aziraphale letting his hands go only so that he could secure a wicked, bruising grip on Crowley’s hips and _pull_. “Perhaps it was not your intention to waltz into my home like the living embodiment of lust itself. To _ruin_ me in a room full of strangers.” It was nothing for him to lean forward and press delicate, scorching kisses over the knobs of Crowley’s spine, nosing up under the fabric of his shirt, breathing hot with just the slightest scrape of teeth. “But, my love, I am afraid you will still have to answer for it all the same.”

Crowley’s body reacted in a full-body shiver, fingers curling so hard into the wood of the shelf he felt them splinter and crack under the pressure. That would have to be fixed later, he thought, stupid with desire. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe, there was no room for anything other than the white-hot brand of Aziraphale’s words on his skin. 

He’d learned long, long ago that when Aziraphale coveted something, he was absolutely relentless in his pursuit. He would circle and press and make it seem like the only logical answer was to grant him his heart’s desire — generally, whatever the angel wanted was given freely and with a smile in the end. When Aziraphale wanted something; really, truly wanted it — _he tempted for it_. 

Crowley growled, muddy-minded and panting, but stubbornness was a long-born trait of his and he wouldn’t go down without a bit of a fight. Even if he was fairly sure there would be some type of _going down_ before the sunset on them this evening if current events were of any indication.

“Brought out of sorts by a crop top and a pair of tight jeans, were you,” He gasped at the cautioning squeeze to his hip, managing only by the grace of his own force of will to raise his head and meet Aziraphale’s burning gaze over his shoulder. “I’m not sure you’d be able to keep up with these promises of yours if that’s all it takes to rile you.” 

There was a huff of air against Crowley’s neck; a scoff, a chuckle, Crowley wasn’t quite sure, but the hands that drifted up along his sides and slid along the length of his neck were gentle, familiar. He sighed at the ministrations, something sweet coiling in his chest at the softening of the angel’s touch. “Would you care to find out?”

Crowley shivered against his will and better judgment. Aziraphale always burned; burned from the inside out until the fire of him sizzled under Crowley’s skin. A hypergiant sun stuffed into the body of a man and all of his ceaseless, immeasurable energy was now focused on stabilizing the fingers that brushed against Crowley’s jaw. The angel’s face was calm, focused, yet there was a question there in his eyes—or maybe a warning. _Ask me to stop,_ it said. _I will, if you want, but tell me now._

Crowley could admit that this had not been where he’d meant for this situation to go, but he _also_ could admit that he most emphatically did not want him to stop. 

His lips turned up in invitation, catching Aziraphale’s thumb as it brushed against his lips with his teeth and letting them part as the angel pressed forward. He flicked his tongue against the pad of it and watched in fascination as Aziraphale’s restraint snapped like a twig. 

He was ready for the teeth in his shoulder, the hiss of breath in his ear; but he wasn’t prepared for the easy slide of Aziraphale’s hand down the back of his trousers, kneading into the flesh of him, his wide palm fitting over the globe of his ass like he wanted to brand his fingerprints into Crowley’s skin. The other reached up to tease one of his nipples with such agonizing slowness it made him buck against Aziraphale, his back curving as he tried to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Oh—Oh _that_ , yesss, angel.” 

Azriraphale’s hands were everywhere and nowhere, like the angel couldn’t decide where to touch first, or for how long. As if he were moments away from growing extra sets of limbs just to touch every inch of him at once. And _well_ , wasn’t that an idea to file away for later. 

Crowley felt his erection pressing against his boxers, lacking the friction of his jeans and begging mercilessly to be touched. Embarrassing, really, after all his talk but it never took him long for him to get like this; not with Aziraphale. The moment they’d decided an Effort would be worth it to try out, his body had fine-tuned itself to the angel’s whims without a word of consent from Crowley himself. He’d have been irritated if it hadn’t worked out so ardently in his favor at the time. 

Aziraphale toyed with him, brushed ever-gentle against his most sensitive places only to drift away before Crowley could find too much pleasure in one sensation at once. It was madness. It was _torture_. 

“Patience, darling.” Crowley could hear the smirk in his voice, knew what it would taste like if he tried for it. “I don’t want this to be over too quickly.” He placed one last biting kiss on Crowley’s neck before nudging him to turn and face him. “Let me look at you, let me _see_.” 

Crowley complied. How could he not? He turned in Aziraphale’s arms, leaning back against the bookshelf. His arms were still where the angel’d left them, languishing there for his pleasure and he drew his eyes up, free of their glamour now. He drank up the angel’s expression, knowing exactly what he looked like at this moment, highlighting his enthusiasm with the swipe of his tongue against his lips.

Sea-storm eyes swept over the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the flush he’d been too distracted to will away that he knew sat full in the lines of his cheeks and neck. Aziraphale’s hands followed his eyes this time; soft, thick things that were made to grip and hold tight. Not a callous on them but for the ridges of his thumbs and the meat of his palms; a swordsman’s mark that had driven Crowley insane from the first moment he’d been allowed to touch. That proof of the warrior that lie not-so-far beneath that veneer of grace. He felt the catch of them along his torso in the worshipful way Aziraphale was incapable of losing when they did this. The way he touched Crowley with reverence so sincere it felt blasphemous. 

“You’ve always been so incredibly beautiful, my dear.” Aziraphale’s voice had almost lost entirely the human cadence he favored, settling deep in the pit of Crowley’s belly. “Perfection made flesh.” He drew into Crowley’s space again, licked into his mouth with not an ounce of shyness until Crowley shook from it. There was nothing, nothing on Earth, in Heaven, or the Pits of Hell that could compete with what it felt like to kiss Aziraphale. He thought the shock of it would wear off eventually, that instant flash of heat, but it knocked him on his ass damn near every time. Aziraphale nipped gently at his lips when they parted, smirking at the ruined buttons at his collar where Crowley had unintentionally ripped free in his fervor. His lips were kiss-bitten and full and there was a world of positively sinful things rolling around in the storm clouds of his eyes that Crowley wanted to be getting up to _yesterday._ “The trouble of it all is finding where to start.”

Crowley whimpered, powerless against the rumbled words spoken like a promise. This was someone Crowley was still trying to figure out; this new facet of Aziraphale drawn up from the depths of the angel’s repression. This creature was bold, and lustful, and _dangerous_. It made Crowley desperate, made him ache in the joints of his wings, in the back of his throat. He let Aziraphale settle his hands on Crowley’s hips again, engulf them completely and say, “Get on your knees.” 

Crowley’s brain short-circuited, the breath ripping from him in a gasp that left him trembling. Aziraphale didn’t demand during sex. Surely hadn’t ever told Crowley to get on his bloody knees with a tone like magma. And suddenly Crowley couldn’t think of anything he wanted more. “Yeah.” He breathed, leaning in. The quake in his lips only settled when they sealed over the angel’s, but it failed to curb the inferno calling forth when Aziraphale’s hand gripped onto his shoulder and pressed down. There was nothing else for Crowley to do but to let his knees give, for him to sink to the floor, mouth parted and awestruck until he was level with the impressive arousal in Aziraphale’s trousers. Crowley could _smell_ his need, could hear the blood singing in the angel’s body and it was to no-one’s surprise that he was now aching for it; enthralled with the idea of Aziraphale feeding him his cock without remorse. 

His hands did not shake when they hovered over the series of buttons currently between Crowley and his newfound, ardent goal but he did not reach for them until Aziraphale nodded in assent. Crowley didn’t think he’d ever moved this fast in his entire life as he made quick work of the buttons, not being able to resist leaning forward to brush his lips against the patch of white curls that finally revealed themselves to his gaze. He slid the angel’s pants down slowly, breathing in where his scent was strongest and feeling his own cock pulse thickly for his efforts. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed when he finally freed his cock, brushed his nose against the underside, watched it strain against him and tried to hold it together. “Tell me what you want.” 

Aziraphale was stone. His expression gave nothing away; the image was only broken by the flush of red on his face and the slightly elevated tempo of his breathing. He reached out once more to brush his fingers against Crowley’s mouth in a mirror of what he’d done before, pressing against the seam of his lips until they parted. Crowley ran his tongue over the points of his fangs when they revealed themselves, his control having slipped in rapid succession with each word out of Aziraphale’s mouth. Those fingers then slid away from his mouth and up into his hair, fisted there and pulled just hard enough to let Crowley know what was coming before he was being guided to sink down onto the angel’s weeping prize. 

He moaned, eyes rolling as it tore from him. Aziraphale tightened his grip and pressed forward when Crowley worked his tongue over the heavy, silk length of it. Aziraphale choked off a gasp and Crowley preened, something primal unfolding in his core.

“Ah, there you are.” Aziraphale groaned, the glass of his expression melting away as fingers curled into Crowley’s hair, controlling the rhythm and motion. Crowley succumbed, allowed himself to be used and thanked every star in the sky that he got to be here for this. “So good, my darling. So perfect. How can I believe you didn’t plan for this when you open for me so readily?” 

Had he? Crowley couldn’t quite recall anymore. Couldn’t remember anything that brought them to this, but what did it matter now.

His eyes slipped shut as he relaxed his mouth to take Aziraphale all the way in. He let his throat ache, let his lips grow swollen and red as the angel’s thrusts pressed deeper, harder until Crowley was holding on to the thick pillars of Aziraphale’s thighs just to keep himself from sinking himself into his skin. The slick sound of him committing this sin of sins coupled with the angel’s encouraging noises left Crowley keening for more. Those hands, those damnable, gorgeous hands, twisted and pulled in earnest as Aziraphale fucked into his mouth.

He wouldn’t last like this; he’d come untouched, solely as a vessel for Aziraphale’s pleasure. His release staggered at the edge, mocking him, crying out for him to let go, but he wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_. Not until—

“That’s enough, darling.” Aziraphale groaned, pulling Crowley back until he bore off the object of his affections with a lewd pop. Crowley, swollen lipped and furious, glared up at him. 

“What do you bloody mean that’s enough?” He hissed, frustration building in him for them both. Aziraphale was close, he could _feel_ it, so what the Heaven was he doing?! “Don’t you want—” He motioned at Aziraphale’s still straining cock, so pretty and red and begging for his mouth to be on it again. 

Aziraphale paused, his grin spreading slow and wicked. Crowley had to grip the base of his own arousal to stop him from coming immediately at all the filthy thoughts that look brought to mind. “Did you think we were finished?” 

“W-wha?” Something like white noise buzzed around his ears. “What do you mean? I thought—

“My dear, I’m afraid you’ve been quite mistaken.” Aziraphale’s fist was still in Crowley’s hair, asking with insisted tugs for him to rise for another kiss. The filth of it almost sent the demon back to his knees. “You won’t be getting off that easy,” Aziraphale said when they parted. 

With a gesture, Aziraphale had cleared the desk behind him and Crowley was on his back on top of it, legs curved over the edge. His pants were gone entirely, feet just touching the floor. Aziraphale gathered close, tongue laying flat against the planes of his stomach and Crowley threw his head back with something far too close to a wail for his pride to handle. He pressed his hands into the back’s of Crowley’s thighs, lifting them as he drifted lower. There were no explanations, nothing to give Crowley an idea of what was going on in his head, just the sparks behind his eyes and Aziraphale’s mouth on him. 

Crowley was moaning out nonsense around the syllables of the angel’s name and when he had the where-with-all to finally look down, his breath hitched. Aziraphale’s eyes never left his face; not when he bit and soothed the crevice of Crowley’s hip bone, not when he pressed reverent kisses to the underside of his knee, not when he sucked the enticing length of his index finger into his mouth and coated it with saliva that suddenly looked much thicker and shinier than it would have without a bit of intervention. Ha. To be a fly on that miracle auditor’s cloud. “Aziraphale, whatever you’re up to you’d better get after it quick. I’m not—gah, _fuck_ — gonna last if you keep up.” 

A thumb pressed into the base of Crowley’s cock and Crowley howled, feeling his teeth would shatter straight out of his mouth at the sound. Aziraphale raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him when that spit-soaked digit slid between his cheeks. “I told you, darling. Not. Yet.” 

“Oh ssshit,” Crowley sang, “G- _you_ -Aziraphale!” 

“Hush now.” Aziraphale smiled, his pace was relentless; not as fast as Crowley wanted, not quick enough to get him to where he needed to be. Just enough to drag against his insides, to press against that spot that made the world collapse inward. “Look at you, my gorgeous love, my fiendish tempter. You’re doing so well. You always do so _well_ for me, Crowley.” 

Oh, the words _hurt_. Hellfire was nothing compared to the searing brand of Aziraphale’s love, the blistering of his lust. The tattoo of it etched into the grooves of his bones. He whimpered, reaching out to bury his hands in Aziraphale’s hair in a silent plea. Aziraphale merely added a second finger in response, calm as you please, stretching until Crowley was sobbing into his fist. If this was the angel’s idea of retaliation, Crowley was not entirely sure he was going to survive it. 

“P-Please, angel, please I can’t—I need—” 

It was a mistake to raise his head, to meet those dark, dark eyes because Crowley’s entire body clenched and pulsed with a ferocity he couldn’t describe. Aziraphale removed his fingers slowly, leaving Crowley empty, begging to be filled again. His angel was hard when he rose above him, perfect, thick and so red with wanting. Crowley’s mouth watered at the thought of it being in him and he reached, almost crying out with relief when Aziraphale came forward and positioned himself between Crowley’s spidery legs. 

He grabbed hold of Crowley’s thighs, the blunt head of his cock just brushing against his entrance and it took everything within Crowley not to growl like a wild animal and spear himself down on it. Aziraphale kissed his knee, his only warning before he slid into Crowley in a few short, quick thrusts that had them both panting.

“Angelangelangel,” Crowley babbled around the stars in his eyes, the clench in his throat. “Yes—fuck— _finally_.” 

Aziraphale kissed up his chest, moved his hands to Crowley’s hips again, slotting his hands into the bones there. He allowed Crowley only a moment to adjust before he pulled out and slammed back in with purpose, making Crowley throw his head back with a ragged yell, hands scrabbling at his sides for something to grab on to as the angel set a delicious, bruising pace. He leaned forward over Crowley, hummed into the taut line of his neck and up.

"Look how well you fit into my hands.” Aziraphale panted in his ear. “Like you were made for me.” Wet heat flicked along the delicate skin of his jaw, possessive and filthy. "Every inch of you— _mine_.” 

Crowley made a choked noise, his throat so tight he was glad he didn’t need to actually breathe. Aziraphale tutted at his lack of response and fucked into him without remorse. Crowley was a wreck of a thing in his arms, nails digging into the strong curve of Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Y-yours, _yes_ , angel, yeah.” 

Aziraphale moaned, long and loud and Crowley gasped nonsense into his angel’s neck, clawing at his back, the comforting handfuls of him at his sides, trying to find purchase. He was so close now, so close, he would have begged, pleaded on bended knee to come this time. Racing towards it, he wrapped his legs around the angel’s waist and found enough strength to meet him thrust for thrust, suddenly terrified that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him, terrified he’d discorporate from the shock of it and never get to do this again. 

“Aziraphale, please, can I—” 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley like he couldn’t believe he existed. He was gorgeous above him, sweat-slicked and black-eyed and relentless. His beautiful pale skin flushed dark and sweat on his brow as he worked Crowley’s body. He kissed Crowley like he couldn’t resist, maneuvered his hand between them to take hold of Crowley’s painfully hard cock, moving them as one. 

“Yes, Crowley, yes. Come for me.” He bit the words into Crowley’s mouth, his hips hastening their movements, his hand twisting just right. Crowley felt the world around them shift and stutter. “ _You may_.”

As if his body had been waiting only for the angel’s permission, Crowley arched off the desk in a great bow, wailing at the ceiling. His painted nails leaving trails of red in the angel’s skin as he came in thick rivulets against both of their bellies. Aziraphale’s own hips stuttered, mouth falling open in a guttural groan before Crowley felt the warm heat of the angel spilling inside of him and his vision whited out entirely. 

Crowley’s arms dropped to his sides, smacking loud and sticky against the desk as he breathed unnecessarily in large, broken gasps. Aziraphale’s head was bowed, daffodil hair brushing Crowley’s chest. His body felt electric, like he’d survived the touch of a live wire, and he was sore, he couldn’t rightly remember the last time his muscles were _sore_. The absurdity of the crackle and burst under his skin bubbled up into a series of giggles that he couldn’t have forced back if he tried. 

Aziraphale’s head rose then, a soppy, satisfied smile on his face, and his chin resting on Crowley’s chest. 

“Angel,” Crowley managed, lifted shaking hands to run through his soaking hair. He looked down with a stupefied grin. “Mind telling me what the _fuck_ that was?”

Aziraphale was chuckling as he placed kisses on his chest. “Comeuppance, dear,” He smirked. “And I do believe I should be the one asking you that question.” 

“I was trying to get you back for the pet thing!” Crowley crowed, feeling fluttery and warm as he pulled the angel up to kiss him proper. “But if this is what I get for coming into the shop in a bloody crop top, I’m just never going to wear clothes again.”

Something like a purr rumbled up from the angel’s chest, the same darkness flashing in his eyes that Crowley stupidly mistook for something other than the hunger it was.

“Well now, wouldn’t that be a treat.” He seemed unable to completely lift his mouth from Crowley’s skin, brushing his lips against his collar bones, his chest. Crowley hummed, gripping his hair in both hands, guiding him to wear the sparks shot brightest. Felt his cock stir again against the angel’s thick thigh and thanked Someone for the lack of recovery periods. 

“Mmm, wouldn’t be jealous, would you? Others seeing me?” 

Aziraphale bit gently at a nipple and Crowley gasped. “What you choose to show or not show of your body is your decision, my love, however—” He scratched his blunt nails along the underside of Crowley’s leg, from ass to knee, “I do find myself wanting to keep you so terribly occupied that you wouldn’t feel the need to try.” 

Crowley sat up on his elbows, raised a curious eyebrow and tried to hide the thrill that shot up his spine.

“That so?” He asked, near breathless already with anticipation. 

Aziraphale grinned.

* * *

Crowley flung himself back, hands tangling in his own hair as he rocked above Aziraphale. He sank down and rose again, the angel keeping a tight grip on his hips to hold him. His blue eyes were wide, made electric by the shock of pure white wings that were flared out across the ceiling; an image sure to rival that of the Sistine chapel. How they got on the ceiling in the first place was sort of hazy, but the head rush and the steady ride to his next orgasm proved a much more interesting a topic. 

Aziraphale was a demanding mess underneath him, arching and groaning like a wild thing, spurring Crowley onward. He forced himself to slow his pace, take the angel slower, breathe through the slick drag of him moving in and out just to hear the way his voice caught in his throat. 

“You—Oh, you beautiful thing.” Aziraphale sighed, hips rocking upwards. Crowley curved back, keening when Aziraphale hit his prostate with every thrust. “You take me so well. Just like that, my love.” He sat up, curling around Crowley, lifting him when his legs trembled from effort and need. His fingers massaged into the bases of his shoulders as he fucked into Crowley with abandon. “Show me, darling. Show me. Let me feel them—” 

Crowley’s wings flared out behind him, arcing until the tips brushed the floor before curving back around his shoulders. Aziraphale sat up, sharpening their pace and brushing his lips over the curve of his right-wing. They came together that time. 

* * *

  
The plan had been to make it to a bed. 

The plan had, obviously, gone a bit off the rails.

Currently, Crowley was plastered against the wall, hands flat against it and trying to figure out how to keep the octave of his voice under control when Aziraphale was determined to make him come with his tongue alone. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at the noises he was making when each one drove the angel to spread the globes of his ass wider and hum in satisfaction at the bounty under his tongue. 

He was shaking apart for what had to be the fourth or fifth time and couldn’t find the will to care. There wasn’t a universe where he would ever tire of this, where the press of Aziraphale’s lips wouldn’t turn him bright and golden and everything he thought he’d never be again. Where he wouldn’t press back against the angel’s soft mouth and hiss against the syllables of his name as he was wrought to completion once again. 

“You bastard.” Crowley cried out, pressing his teeth into his wrist, tears gathering in his eyes. “You’re going to kill me, Aziraphale, _please_ , how many times are you gonna make me say it?”

Aziraphale drew back, bit into the soft flesh of his ass until Crowley whined. He felt the curve of a smile against his skin and wondered not for the first time where this feral fucking hedonist had been hiding the last 6000 years. “Until I grow weary of hearing it, my dear.” 

Crowley’s cock pulsed and he took it in hand with some odd combination of fear and arousal. “ _Fuck_.”

* * *

When they collapsed against each other this time it was, thank everything, in their bed. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, willing himself to sink into the plush mattress. His body was probably going to have to recover from this particular stint for at least a day or two. “I can’t move. I think you’ve finally managed to discorporate me without violence like you’ve always wanted. Tell Heaven they’ve earned their win. I concede.” 

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, face tilted into the crook of Crowley’s neck. He was wrapped around Crowley, an arm and leg thrown over him and Crowley could count on one hand all the times he felt this content. Every single one of those could be contributed to Aziraphale. “Yes, I’m sure I’d receive the highest of commendations for bringing a demon to screaming orgasm. I’m sure Gabriel would have loved that.” 

“Oi, nobody said anything about _screaming_. Quiet as a mouse, me.”

“Nobody had to,” Aziraphale smirked, running his fingers through the absolute mess that was Crowley’s hair. “I’m sure they heard you in the next town over.”

Crowley sputtered, turning his head to glare half-heartedly at him but was silenced with the angel pressed a sweet kiss to his nose. He wrinkled it, and judging by the soft adoration on Aziraphale’s face, his expression didn’t look nearly as disdainful as it should have. 

“I’ll give you that if we can agree to never mention that prick’s name anywhere around our bed again.” 

Aziraphale snorted softly. “You have my word.”

Crowley moved to stretch one last time, lips curving at the burn of bite marks on his skin and the well-fucked flush that still remained on his cheeks. He curved into the angel’s side, pillowing himself on softness and wondered what it would take to get Aziraphale into a swimsuit. There were interesting things to be done in the water; in the open air and the sunshine. Lots of exposed flesh to gaze upon. Crowley drifted in and out of sleep, and schemed some more. 

It _was_ summer, after all. 


End file.
